


A Bet With A Demon

by MooTheAuthor



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Cheesy, Fluff, M/M, the main characters are fkn idiots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-13
Updated: 2021-01-13
Packaged: 2021-03-18 01:13:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28734753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MooTheAuthor/pseuds/MooTheAuthor
Summary: Crowley makes Aziraphale a bet that he can't resist. But will the friendly competition between this angel and demon lead them to become something more than friends?The answer may not surprise you.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 13
Kudos: 46





	A Bet With A Demon

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not much of a romance author, or a fanfic author, so this was an adventure. I had fun with it, but yeah this is literally my first time writing a romance short like this so cut me some slack. Gawd.
> 
> Hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it, though.

**Monday**

" _ Personally,  _ I think the whole hellfire thing is such overkill." Crowley leaned back, teetering his chair on two legs and resting his feet on the café table, despite the disapproving waiter glaring at him across the room. 

"Mm."

"You really should’ve seen their faces, I still can’t get over it. Ugly buggers aren’t they, angels?"

"Lovely." 

Crowley frowned. "Are you listening to me?"

Aziraphale nodded, his nose buried in the pages of the book he was holding. 

"Ah, then I suppose I should tell you I got engaged to Gabriel and we're moving away to an island in the Pacific forever."

"That's nice."

Crowley reached over the delicate glass table and cheekily knocked the book from the angel's hand, watching as it landed on the surface, knocking his glass of whiskey dangerously close to falling. Aziraphale gasped, jumping forward to rescue his precious book from the stray drops of alcohol. "Hey!!"

"What are you reading that's so much more interesting than me?" Crowley smirked, leaning back again and taking a sip from his glass.

Aziraphale glanced away, blushing slightly. He gently slotted a delicate leather bookmark into the book. "Romeo and Juliet. If you must know."

"Haven't you read that before?"

"Sixteen times."

He scoffed, raising his eyebrows. "Sixteen? And you aren't bored of it already?" 

"It's a classic! A truly unique piece of literature that has influenced  _ centuries _ of art." 

"Nerd." 

Aziraphale scowled. " _ You _ talk to plants."

"Not talk. Threaten." 

Aziraphale smiled, picking up the Danish pastry he'd ordered. "I believe my point still stands." 

Crowley chuckled. "What do you like so much about that book anyway? Besides the whole  _ cultural influence  _ thing."

Aziraphale sighed, staring into the blue sky dreamily. "The romance of it all."

"They both kill themselves."

"It's a tragedy! The heartbreak of it all is part of the  _ experience _ ."

"It's depressing, that's what it is."

Aziraphale sighed dramatically. "You know nothing of romance."

"I do! I've made plenty of people fall for me."

"For  _ one night. _ That isn't love, that's lust."

"Well I don't see you taking anyone out on any romantic escapades either," Crowley said, grinning when the angel's cheeks turned pink again.

"I just haven't found the right person, that's all." 

It was then that Crowley had an idea. His eyes lit up behind the sunglasses and a sly grin slid its way onto his face. 

"That's your thinking face." Aziraphale said, frowning nervously. "What are you planning?" 

"I'll make you a bet," Crowley grinned. "I bet that you can't get someone to fall in love with you by the end of the week."

"Why, that-" Aziraphale stuttered, "that's impossible, you can't just  _ make _ someone fall in love."

"I'll try it as well."

That sparked his interest. The angel sat forward in his seat, attempting and failing to hide the cocky smile that was beginning to manifest on his face. "You won't get anywhere, not with the way you go about things." 

"I guess we'll see. Whoever gets someone to fall in love first wins."

"Wins what?"

"I suppose you'll find out." 

Aziraphale sighed. "Alright. Only to prove you wrong."

"Look at you, making a deal with a demon," Crowley teased as the two shook on it over the table.

"Oh, shut up," Aziraphale muttered with a bashful smile. 

****

"Hastur! Old friend!" Crowley sauntered into hell, with the air of someone who knows everybody in the room hates him, and loves it. In other words, he walked like a cocky bitch.

"I'm not your friend." 

"I have a question for you."

Hastur made a growling sound like a hellhound. "What?" He uttered through painfully gritted teeth.

Crowley flopped down into the seat across from the growling demon, grinning and pushing his dark glasses down his nose to reveal his yellow, lizard-like eyes. "How do you get someone to fall in love? Fast.” 

Hastur sighed, and Crowley could’ve sworn he saw sparks on his breath. “What?”

“I made a deal.” 

“I don’t wanna know…” 

“I’m telling you anyway,” Crowley grinned, making himself comfortable to tell his story as the demon across from him banged his head on the table. “See, someone told me that I know nothing about love so I bet that I could prove them wrong before the end of the week.” 

“Don’t care. Use a spell or something.” The demon got up to go, but Crowley kept on talking, pulling his reluctant non-companion back to the seat across from him. 

“That’s cheating. Come on, you’re a charming guy, you gotta know something.” 

“Will you stop talking to me if I tell you something?” Hastur grumbled, his head in his hands. Crowley nodded, staring intently at him. “Then uhh…” the demon paused, glancing around the room for a convincing enough idea that would free him from this worse-than-hell conversation. “Get them something they like. Something no-one else can get them. Can I go now?” 

“Hm.” Crowley leaned back in his seat, frowning slightly. “Yeah, that could work. Thanks,  _ friend. _ ”

“You aren’t my friend.” 

“You love me really,” he smirked, putting his glasses back on and standing to leave. “Byeeee~!” he called over his shoulder, waving lazily and strutting out of the door. Hastur hit his head against the wall. 

****

“I just have no idea what to do. I can’t make someone fall in love with me just for a bet, it’s  _ cruel. _ ” 

The woman Aziraphale was talking, or rather ranting, to placed a delicate china teacup in front of him, nodding pensively. “If you don’t know what to do,” she said, sitting down across from him, “then why did you accept the bet?” 

“I wanted to prove him wrong,” Aziraphale sighed. “And I admit that I didn’t quite think it through…” 

“Well,” Madame Tracy said, taking a sip from her teacup. “Is there anyone who wouldn’t mind falling for you?” 

The angel shrugged, sinking down in his seat. “I don’t know…” 

“In my experience, it’s always easier to go for someone who already likes you,” she purred, smiling at him across the table. “And I think there’s someone out there who you have wonderful chemistry with.” 

Aziraphale glanced away. “I have no idea who you could be talking about,” he said, obviously knowing exactly who she was talking about.

“You and that Crowley fellow seem to get on awfully well,” she hummed. “If you swing that way.” 

“He was the one who made the bet,” Aziraphale said, glancing around awkwardly.

“Perfect! Then you get to demonstrate to him your superior knowledge of romance,  _ and _ you know he’d be ok with falling for you!” 

“I don’t know that… we’re only friends, after all.” 

Madame Tracey nearly spat her tea out laughing. “Only friends?” 

Aziraphale paused, staring at her. “Yes?” 

“Oh,” she smiled, “so you’re one of  _ those _ couples.” 

“We aren’t a  _ couple _ !” 

“Not yet.” 

Aziraphale blushed furiously, standing up from his chair. “I don’t know  _ what  _ you’re suggesting,” he stammered, “but I think it’s quite inappropriate.” He turned to storm out of the room, and made it to the door before turning around to add “thank you for the tea.” 

“Anytime,” Madame Tracey responded, raising her teacup to him in a toast of good luck. 

He stormed down the stairs from her apartment in his own special kind of anger that involved shutting doors nice and gently, and trying not to make a ruckus as he hurried down the stairs. He might have been angry, or embarrassed, or whatever this red-hot feeling was, but it took a  _ lot _ to make Aziraphale be  rude . 

  
  
  
  


**Tuesday**

“So, how’s it going, angel?” 

Aziraphale sighed, balancing the receiver of his old phone delicately on his shoulder as he loaded piles of books into his arms. “It’s a cruel bet.” 

“Then you shouldn’t have accepted it.” Aziraphale could hear the cocky smile through the phone. “It’s only to be expected when you make a deal with a demon.”

“Well,  _ yes, _ ” Aziraphale said, pausing to focus on balancing the books beneath his chin as he lifted them up to the shelf. “But it’s different with you.” 

“How so?” 

“Well, you know,” the angel said, “you aren’t exactly very…  _ demonic. _ ”

“I’m offended,” Crowley chuckled from the other end of the line. Aziraphale snorted. “Well, if it's of any interest to you, I’m already making progress.” 

That phased Aziraphale. He didn’t like to admit it, but he did find himself to be extremely competitive at times. “You’re really doing this, then?” 

“Of course. I never go back on my word, angel.” 

He rolled his eyes, silently cursing the unbreakable word of his companion. “Well, I’ve also got an idea or two.” 

“You have?” Crowley sounded genuinely intrigued, which made Aziraphale smile a little. 

“I have.” 

“And you’re saying that because you genuinely have something, or because you want me to think you do?” 

_ Well. That’s complicated.  _ “I’ll leave that up to you to decide,” he said. 

“You’re adorable when you try to be cool.” 

Aziraphale felt himself blushing again, but tried not to let it on in his voice. “I’m not  _ trying to be cool _ . I simply don’t want to tell you.” 

“Hmmm, sure,” Crowley chuckled. “Anyway, I have to go, angel. I’ve got affairs to attend to.” 

“Plants to yell at?” 

“Something like that.” 

“I’ll see you on Sunday.” 

Aziraphale put the phone back down with a satisfying  _ ding _ , untangling his arm from the cable _. _ He considered for a moment finally replacing the bookshop’s old rotary phone, as he often did after his rather physically restraining phone calls, but decided against it. He rather liked the old thing, even if it required the occasional miracle to repair. 

Then he remembered the bet. When he’d told Crowley he had something, he hadn’t been exactly  _ lying _ . He never lied. Almost never. Well, the point was, he had an idea for how exactly he could prove Crowley wrong. If he could make Crowley himself fall in love, that would really show him.  _ Only for the bet,  _ Aziraphale told himself. He managed to tell it to himself just enough times for him to believe it, and to believe it enough to go about discovering exactly how Crowley would be tricked into falling in love. 

****

At his end, Crowley hung up his phone, tossing the sleek, new model onto the table beside him. He was draped not-so-elegantly over the arms of his favourite chair, staring at his coldly open-plan apartment and dangling his sunglasses off of his finger delicately. His nails could do with repainting, he noticed.  _ Oh well.  _

He had intended to gather some kind of an idea of what Aziraphale could want over the phone call, but he’d got a little distracted talking to him and glaring at a particularly droopy plant in the corner of the room. He sighed. Maybe this wasn’t the  _ best  _ idea. Was Aziraphale even interested in dating… people? Besides, he didn’t want to lose him. Not like he cared about the angel. It was just that they’d known each other so long. Yeah. That was it. 

He paced the floor. What Hastur had said had been bouncing around in his head ever since he heard it: “something no-one else can get them”. There was a lot that nobody else could get. After all, he was a demon. He could get his hands on things that others couldn't even imagine. But Aziraphale was an angel, and the exact same thing went for him. Crowley sighed bitterly. He was taking this all way too seriously. 

“See, this is what comes of  _ feelings _ ,” he said to the drooping plant, spitting the last word with a heartfelt contempt. “They weigh you down.” He took the plant from its place on the shelf, glaring at it as he took it to the middle of the room, in perfect view of all its other plant-companions. “And we can’t have that, can we?” He said, grinning as evilly as one can when the being that they’re threatening is a house plant. With a swift snip, the plant was decapitated. 

**Friday**

Time seemed to pass way too quickly when Aziraphale had something to be doing. He wondered if it really  _ was _ Friday, or if he was just paranoid. Tapping the delicate fountain pen against his chin, he stared at the empty paper on the desk before him. He’d been meaning to compile a list of ideas for a few days now, but still nothing had come to mind. Maybe he really didn’t know as much about romance as he thought. 

Seeing as the brainstorming idea wasn’t working, he decided to take his ideas in a different direction. Hurrying around the quaint little shop, he picked up every book in the romance genre that he could. Tonight was going to be a reading night. 

Just as he was bringing his stack of reference material back to the chair, there was a knock at the door. He sighed. Honestly, he’d thought that by now, people would understand that he wasn’t actually going to give them any of his precious hardbacks. He opened the door, peering through the crack. “Sorry. Not open,” he delivered the usual message of consolation before stopping right in his tracks. “Crowley?”

“Heya angel.” 

Aziraphale frowned. To say the demon looked annoyed was an understatement. His brow was furrowed so tightly that the angel was sure he’d pull a muscle. One of his hands was balled in a fist, and the other was gripping onto the door frame so tightly that Aziraphale was a little nervous he’d break it. “Are you okay?” he asked. 

“ _ Feelings.”  _

Aziraphale nodded, and opened the door without question. “Would you like some tea? Coffee?” 

“Coffee,” Crowley grumbled as he invited himself in, collapsing into an armchair. 

_ Two sugars, just a little too much milk. _ Crowley never liked to admit it, but Aziraphale knew he really had a sweet tooth. “So, what happened?” he asked as he put the kettle on. 

“Oh, I just picked a  _ really  _ awkward person to make fall for me.” 

Aziraphale chuckled. “And you’re sure it’s not just because you’re bad at the whole  _ love  _ business?” he asked.

“I’m amazing at the whole love business,” the demon scowled. Aziraphale chuckled. “Anyway,” Crowley continued, glancing around the room, “this place is looking good. You got all of your books back, yeah?” 

“Almost all,” Aziraphale said. “Nothing I wrote came back. As is usually the case.” He hid his face from the demon for a moment, trying not to let on any sort of sadness at the most recent loss of his writing. 

“Again?” 

The angel nodded. “I believe I’m cursed. After all, since 48 BC, I haven’t been able to write a single thing without it getting permanently destroyed,” he said, his voice sharp with frustration. “It’s rather horrible. I’ve seen so much that I want to write about.” 

Crowley sighed. Aziraphale offered him the coffee, sitting down on the armchair across from him. “Thank you.” 

“You’re welcome.” Aziraphale selected one of the books from the pile.  _ Gone With The Wind.  _ He picked it up, flicking between the pages with an intent focus. 

“What’s with the pile of books?” Crowley questioned after a moment, steam from his drink fogging up his sunglasses. 

“Research.” Aziraphale had gone back into what Crowley often called ‘book mode’; where he would bury himself in the pages and only answer questions if he could use less than three syllables. 

“Ah. So you’re having as much trouble as I am then?” 

Aziraphale paused. He glanced up at Crowley, observing him quietly. A smile flickered onto his face for a moment, before he suppressed it again. “Not anymore.” 

****

Crowley left the bookshop a little later than he had expected, but that was usually the case when he went to visit Aziraphale. It was interesting to hear that the angel had actually come up with an idea, but he supposed he’d just find out what it was on Sunday. 

His method of infiltrating Aziraphale’s bookshop had worked, at least. It only cost the little twang of guilt at making the angel think he was genuinely upset, but he was good at suppressing guilt. He’d been doing it since he had grown a consciousness. Which was an oddly similar time to when he first met Aziraphale.

He jumped into the driver’s seat of the bentley. At least he had an idea now. He smiled to himself, already imagining the look on the angel’s face. The adorable little dimples he would get in his cheeks with his excited grin and - 

“This is only for the bet.” He said it aloud, hoping that it would convince him. It didn’t. 

_ LOVE OF MY LIFEEEE~ YOU’VE HURT MEEEE!!!  _ The bentley started blasting Queen again. “Oh shut up,” he scolded it, turning the radio off as he took off down the road. There was a moment where it was silent, besides the satisfying purring of the car’s engine. But it didn’t last long. It never did with the bentley. The calming quiet was brought to another abrupt end when the radio started up again -  _ good old fashioned LOVER BOYYY!!  _

“Oh my fucking- I get it!” he shouted, causing various passers-by on the street to think he was mad. After all, that was the only logical conclusion to come to when you see a strange man in sunglasses yelling at a Bentley. But, no matter how much he shouted at it, the car continued to tease him with various romantic lyrics. By the time he got to his apartment, it seemed to be running out of ideas, though, as it was now singing  _ MAMAAA OOOOOH  _ on an irritating loop. 

Crowley closed the door and let the car sing to itself instead, standing in the doorway of his apartment building. He picked up his phone, listening to it ring. Eventually, the crackling sound of Hell’s absolutely horrible reception tore through the speakers in his phone. “Hastur!” 

“What in the name of everything unholy do you want now?”

  
  


**Saturday**

Aziraphale was staring into his bathroom mirror. His appearance had never really been a big concern of his. But then again, he’d never been on a date. In his millions of years of existence, he had never once been out with anyone. Well, not like this anyway. He and Crowley had been to plenty of dinners together. Crowley always insisted on paying. Aziraphale smiled to himself. 

He remembered what Madame Tracey had told him.  _ That kind of couple. _ Was it bad that he didn’t mind being called a couple? Awkwardly, he cleared his throat, despite there being nobody there to hear his thoughts anyway. It was dark outside, but he knew he wouldn't sleep tonight. He was frustratingly excited about this. About proving Crowley wrong. Nothing else. Not at all.

****

Crowley closed the boot of the Bentley as gently as he could, making every effort not to cause any damage. He hadn’t used the boot of this car in ages, and the hinges looked like they could fall into a million rusty pieces at any moment. It would take a miracle to fix them. Luckily he could do that. But not at the moment. His mind was too preoccupied with everything else going on. It was one of his most risky plans, and that was  _ saying something. _ But losing a lifelong friend because of a mistake in judgement was a big risk to take to prove a point about his knowledge of romance. Oh well. He’d gotten this far. 

No turning back now.

**Sunday**

It was warm on Sunday evening. The sun shone confidently through the clouds, casting a golden light down the street of this uncharacteristically quaint part of London. Crowley was sitting outdoors, his feet on the table again despite the obvious breach of the elegant etiquette of the tea room. A little way off, the Bentley was sitting by the curb of the path, quietly humming queen songs, despite the fact that it was supposed to be turned off. Crowley swore that little glitch was getting worse.

He hated this teashop. The waiters were judgemental, the rest of the clients were stuck up and posh, and it seemed like the antithesis of a place that a demon should be. But Aziraphale liked it, so somehow they always ended up there. At least that made him tolerate it a little more. 

_ Speak of the angel _ . Aziraphale was hurrying down the road towards him. He sat down in the chair opposite Crowley, panting a little. “Sorry I’m a little late,” he said. 

Crowley looked at his watch. “You’re exactly on time.” 

“Oh. Really?” Crowley nodded. The angel breathed a sigh of relief, running his fingers through his hair. “I just assumed. Seeing as you were already here. You’re always late.” 

“I’m offended you would make such an assumption,” Crowley grinned. Aziraphale giggled. It was a rare occurrence, but when it happened any sane person would say it was adorable. “Hang on.” Crowley leaned forward over the table. The angel’s hazel eyes widened for a moment, and his cheeks turned pink again, as was an increasingly common thing for them to do nowadays. “Did you do your hair?” 

“Oh,” Aziraphale said, a little relief in his voice. “Um. No.” 

“I thought angels didn’t lie?” 

“Well, I… I’m not a very good angel,” Aziraphale said.

Crowley laughed. “That’s true.” 

There was a pause for a moment, and the two looked at each other and just for a second, said nothing, content with just looking at each other for a bit. But then Crowley spoke. “So how did you do?”

Aziraphale paused, and smiled secretively. “I might have done well. How about you?” 

Crowley shrugged. “I might have as well. Hard to tell really.” 

There was a moment of competitive eye contact over the table; like two chess players locked in an intensely high-stakes game. Which was significantly more awesome than what was actually happening between the two. Aziraphale was the first to break eye contact, looking down at the menu he knew by heart and asking “so, how shall we determine who won?” 

Crowley smiled, standing up from his chair. “I suppose we’re about to find out.” 

Aziraphale raised his eyebrows slightly, and tilted his head like a curious puppy. “Where are you going?” 

“Where are  _ we _ going,” Crowley corrected him, reaching over the delicate little table for Aziraphale’s arm. Wait. Not his arm. His hand. The angel felt his shoulders shoot up to his ears, and he retreated into himself, as if he was a tortoise hiding in its shell. “Are you alright?” Crowley asked the tortoise-angel, a look of surprisingly genuine concern on his face.

“Yes. Quite. You’re holding my hand. And that’s fine. That’s cute. Wait, not cute. Just um-” 

“I get it,” Crowley smiled. He didn’t let go of his hand.

The demon led the angel down the mostly-empty street, towards where the Bentley was still singing to itself at the side of the road. “The car?” Azirahale asked. 

“Wait a second,” Crowley dashed around to the boot. 

“What on earth are you-” 

“Come and see!” 

Aziraphale hadn’t heard him talk with so little sarcasm in years. “What have you got in there?” he asked.

“I promise it’s not a person.”

Aziraphale chuckled nervously, and went to join Crowley where he was standing at the back of the car. He was a little surprised to see a box, tied shut with a ribbon, as if to prevent anything inside from being damaged on the uneven streets of the city.

“I know you probably have every book known to man in that shop of yours, but I think these are a little more… special.” 

The angel didn’t know what to say. Detecting nerves in his friend’s voice, he turned around suspiciously. “Crowley?” 

“Just look in the box,” he encouraged, folding his arms and leaning against a nearby lamppost. 

Aziraphale frowned apprehensively, but his curiosity got the better of him. It always did. He opened the box, and it seemed to be filled to the brim with old papyrus scrolls, leather bound books and sheets of parchment. Aziraphale looked up at Crowley, who gestured for him to look at one of them. He picked up a scroll of old paper. 

**It’s a beautiful day today. The sun has settled perfectly on the hills, and the trees look just splendid. It seems like they are really beginning to get the hang of it up there. I hope that God will be done with this garden soon, though, because I lost my sword and I don’t particularly want anybody in charge to find out.**

**~Aziraphale**

**Ps: Demons are surprisingly friendly.**

Aziraphale gasped. “Crowley, how did you- they- my old journals- these were all destroyed, how on  _ earth _ did you find them?!” he was scrambling through the box of scrolls as he spoke. “Is this all of it?” 

Crowley grinned. “Yep.”

Aziraphale had always been a fan of books. Everybody knew that. But it wasn’t known to many besides Crowley that the angel wrote. Or at least used to. But then the incident at Alexandria happened, and anytime he tried to write any sort of journal afterwards, it would always end up damaged beyond repair. 

He’d figured that it was probably a demon deciding that the best use of its time was to mess with an angel. So, after his meeting with Aziraphale on friday, he’d gotten the idea to find out exactly who. After the whole  _ holy water  _ incident, he’d gained quite the reputation down in hell. So, as soon as Hastur had led him to the demon who boasted having collected every writing piece from an angel, he’d had no trouble retrieving it. 

“I-” Aziraphale attempted to speak, but nothing came out. The collection of scrolls, books and loose sheets of parchment were like long-lost relatives. It was the first time he’d seen them in years without singed edges, or water-logged ink, or simply torn into irreparably tiny shreds. “You could miracle them better all this time?” 

“No,” Crowley wandered closer to the angel, looking over his shoulder at the box. “It was one of ours that was doing it, so I found them.” 

“You did that for me?” 

Crowley shrugged, glancing away. “You seemed really upset about it, so-” 

Before he could finish his explanation, Aziraphale crashed headlong into him, locking his arms around the demon in a hug. Crowley opened his mouth to protest, but didn’t say a word. He was too surprised. 

A part of him had been expecting Aziraphale to kiss him, but this was  _ so much better.  _ He’d been kissed before, and it was nothing special. But it had been years since someone had hugged him. It felt warm and loving, and for once he didn’t feel like they were both hiding something. 

“Thank you so much,” Aziraphale mumbled into the demon’s jacket.

“I just thought you might like to write our- your story. It’s interesting after all.” He could feel the angel smiling. 

“I would like that.” They stayed there for a moment, at the side of the street, standing behind the car that had finally shut up, as if it knew something. As if out of impulse more than anything else, Aziraphale said “I love you.” 

Crowley couldn’t suppress his smile, no matter how hard he tried. He paused for a moment, steeling himself as if he was playing russian roulette and the gun had landed on him. Which, he supposed, wasn’t all too far from the truth. “I love you too, angel,” he finally managed to say. Aziraphale pulled away and looked at him with those sparkling brown puppy eyes. 

“Hang on,” he said, tilting his head slightly. “This wasn’t for the bet, was it?” 

Crowley paused, and rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “Possibly,” he admitted. “But I promise I wasn’t lying just then,” he added hastily. When he saw that the angel was still smiling, he relaxed again, leaning against the lamppost. “I guess I won after all, then.” 

“I’m not quite sure,” Aziraphale smiled.

“Why not?” 

“Because I did something for the bet as well.” 

The demon looked over his sunglasses, the expression on his face screaming the phrase  _ excuse me what?  _

“I confessed that I love you,” Aziraphale said triumphantly. “And it worked. I always knew I’d be the one to have to make the first move before you fell in love too.” 

“Oh, that’s not  _ fair! _ ” Crowley scowled. “I did it first! And I would have definitely made the first move if it wasn’t for this bet, for your information.” 

Aziraphale smiled. “Admittedly, yes. You probably would have. But you didn’t.” 

“Well, I still won the bet. I got you to love me first.” 

“I think the fact that you did this for me,” Aziraphale said as he picked up the box of his lost writing, “proves that I made you love me way before the bet.” 

“I could say the same thing about you!” Crowley insisted, getting into the driver's seat of the car as Aziraphale got in beside him. 

“It’s a draw, then?” Aziraphale suggested, putting his seatbelt on over both him and the box. 

“Fine.”

They both laughed, a combination of nerves, relief, and the genuine comedy of their situation. 

“So,” Aziraphale said, once they were driving steadily - if a bit fast - down the sunlit roat, “you said there'd be a prize. And seeing as it was a draw, it’s only fair that we both get one, yes?” 

“Yeah, sounds about right,” Crowley replied.

“So? What is it?” 

The demon thought for a second, frowning at the road as it rushed beneath them. “How about…” he suggested after a moment, “we each get a boyfriend?” He looked up at Aziraphale, who was unsurprisingly blushing again, and smiled mischievously at him.

The angel nodded, smiling. 

“I’d like that.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Yep. Not the best thing I've written but I hope that you are satisfied with your daily fluff intake. Thanks for getting this far :)
> 
> Also can we get an F in the chat for Crowleys plants?


End file.
